


pull me from the flames

by sarcasticfishes



Series: light on her [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning-Stiles was rather rumpled and gorgeous, soft eyed and hair pointing every which direction, and Lydia wondered how the hell he hadn’t been snapped up by someone yet. How had she never wanted him before?</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull me from the flames

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Rain And Bad Weather](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1130687). It'd be helpful if you read part one but I guess it's not necessary! Unbeta'd, I'm entirely responsible for any errors, etc.

Lydia would be completely content to lie around in Stiles’ bed all day listening to the storm outside. She had woken a little after 10am, to an empty bed and the sound of Stiles arguing with his father, who was adamant about going to work despite the weather.

_“These are the times when I’m needed the most, Stiles, you know how many emergency calls we get during this kind of weather.”_

The argument sounded like it’d been going on for a while, and eventually petered out as the Sheriff promised to try and get home early. Stiles came back into his room looking displeased, arms folded over his chest, but perked up upon seeing Lydia peeking out at him from the covers, both his stance and expression softening as he closed the door behind him.

Morning-Stiles was rather rumpled and gorgeous, soft eyed and hair pointing every which direction, and Lydia wondered how the hell he hadn’t been snapped up by someone yet. How had she never _wanted_ him before?

“Hi,” he murmured, starting towards the bed, but then deciding to make a quick detour and close the shutters of his windows. It was still pretty dark out, and from what Lydia could see out Stiles’ window, the sky outside was a sickly purple grey that left something to be desired. Once the cold, natural outside light was blocked out Lydia could barely see Stiles’ outline as he moved around, until he checked his phone, the display lighting up his features in a way that should have been unflattering, but really wasn’t at all.

His feet were cold as he slipped in next to her, smiling.

“Hi,” she replied, finally. She didn’t shy away from the cold of him, instead wrapping her ankles around his leg and pulling him in closer. In a few minutes he would warm up, and she would appreciate the closeness even more.

“Sleep well?” he asked, and she was glad then that it was dark, and he couldn’t see the grin that she couldn’t even try to supress.

“Very. Did you?”

“Yeah,” he sounded surprised, and extended his arm over her, slotting it down behind her as she lifted her head and placed it closer to his shoulder. _Cuddling_. They did that now, apparently. There had been no negotiation over what their night together would mean, but she just fell into him so easily, and he responded to her so effortlessly, so she let it happen without thinking about it. And she was okay with that.

Lydia Martin never jumped in headfirst, except for where Stiles Stilinski was involved. Or, that’s what it was starting to look like.

She sighed into his shoulder, nose butting against the curve of his neck, and there was a clap of thunder as he put his free hand against her hip, his body twisting into hers.

“Doesn’t sound like I’ll be going home any time soon,” Lydia whispered, the wind picking up.

“Should have checked the weather report before you agreed to come study with me,” Stiles replied.

“Hmm, stay at home on my own during a storm, or study with a cute boy during a storm? Which option would you choose, Stiles?”

“Cute boy. Definitely cute boy,” he said, “I wonder where you could find one of those.”

Lydia elbowed him lightly in the ribs, making Stiles laugh loud and gleefully, “Don’t fish for compliments, Stiles, it’s not attractive.”

“Lydia Martin thinks I’m cute. Lydia Martin gave me a blowjob.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Lydia Martin also thinks you’re very smart and noble and benevolent but she might change her mind if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“She wasn’t complaining about my mouth last night— ow!” Stiles’ yelp of pain turned into laughter as he turned over, pushing himself up over Lydia’s body as he rubbed the tender ribs where she had elbowed him again, harder this time, “That was uncalled for.”

“An ego is not attractive either.”

Stiles bit down on his lip, eyelashes lowered as his gaze glanced over her mouth. He seemed to shiver, as if recalling the shape they made, hollowed around his cock. Lydia realised belatedly that she’d spread her legs the moment her rolled over her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding not the least bit apologetic, “Tell me what I can do.”

“I told you,” she replied, eyes closed as he lowered his head, nose brushing hers softly, lips barely touching, “I want your fingers. Unless you want to fuck me, because then I definitely, definitely want your cock.”

Stiles exhaled shakily like he’d been holding his breath, kissed her just below her mouth.

“Not yet. We have time for that later.”

“Do we?”

“We have all day. Unless you’d like to hit the books? Study? Do some revision?”

Lydia caught her lip between her teeth and shook her head, opening her eyes again to find him less than maybe two inches from her face. She lifted her bare hips up, feeling the hot line of his erection between her thighs. She could still feel the weight of it in her mouth, and a giddy little thrill fluttered through her at the thought of having him inside her, and that- well, she’d never felt that about _anyone_. Not even her first time.

And then she remembered, it would be Stiles’ _first time_.

“Well, we have an empty house. It’d be a shame to waste it on study.”

“Of course,” Stiles placed his palm flat against her stomach beneath the t-shirt she wore, and warmth spread across her skin, drove deep down between her thighs, from the point of contact. His hands were so big, and she suddenly felt small beneath him, his long, broad frame. She didn’t mind it at all.

Last night it had been her in control. She told Stiles what she wanted, what she wanted to do to him, and he had went with it. But now she was sleep-drunk and boneless underneath him, wanted to let him take the reins, to see what he could do. She’d planted the idea in his head. He just needed to take the initiative.

Stiles lowered his eyes again, watching as he moved his hand down until his palm covered her warm mound. The hotness of his hand wasn’t nearly as noticeable on her, she guessed it was because she felt the heat of her own arousal there. The look of awe on his face told her that he felt it too.

The tips of his fingers brushed her folds, and she could feel how wet she was, already so wanting. He lifted his hand, sucking his fingers into his mouth briefly – three of them, _oh_ – and then dropped it again to slip one inside her.

Her body lit up with the memory of the night before, and she breathed out his name, hands gripping at his biceps.

“More, Stiles, I swear-”

He kissed her hard as he pushed two fingers into her, long slim fingers and not-so-bony knuckles that felt incredible inside her. She rolled her hips against his hand, encouraging him to move a little, and he gently pressed his fingers forward against her walls, testing, but _god_ the noise it tore out of her was obscene.

Stiles Stilinski, for all the talking he did, was a surprisingly good listener, took instruction like a pro.

“Harder,” Lydia breathed out, and soon he was fucking his fingers into her, and she was drenched with it, the slick wet noise of it making her toes curl against his sheets. He pressed a third finger in and she muffled a sob into his shoulder.

He pressed his thumb down against her clit, and she came, crying out, trying to close her legs against his hand but his hips in between her thighs were definitely getting in the way of that. Lydia felt like a star, collapsing in on herself again and again at his hands.

She shuddered when he stilled, pulling his fingers from her, and even in the dark she could see how wet his hand was, and his soft moan when he sucked his fingers into his mouth again just wrecked her. She would probably let Stiles do anything he wanted to her if he kept making those noises.

She wouldn’t tell him that, though. Never.

After taking a few breaths to steady herself, Lydia reached out for Stiles’ t-shirt, tugging on it in a way that he knew to slip out of it. She rubbed her hands over his bare chest, pausing when she felt his heartbeat, fast and excited under the skin. The way he felt about making her come could leave her melting, but instead it made her own heart flutter too, and she smiled.

“You’re so beautiful when you-” he swallowed hard, “When I’m making you scream like that, _Christ_ , Lydia.”

She brushed the back of her hand, her knuckles, against his happy trail, smirking as he sucked in a breath.

“What do you want, what can I do for you?”

He closed his eyes as she pushed her hand inside his pants.

“God. Fuck. Can I fuck you?”

“Thought you said _later_ ,” Lydia hummed, pleased with his impatience.

“It’s currently later than the time at which I said ‘later’,” Stiles replied, pressing his lips to hers again. “Lemme go get a condom.”

Stiles started to pull back, and after a split moment of arguing with herself in her head, Lydia grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

He looked at her, and then slowly said, “Or, we could do something else.”

“No, I mean,” she drummed her fingers against his arm, a little nervously, and then forced herself to stop. She hated fidgeting, “It’s not ideal. But it’s your first. And I’m on birth control.”

Stiles looked torn, like he was remembering every safe sex speech he’d ever sat through, while simultaneously remembering the wet warmth of her around his fingers. Finally, he gave a little jerky nod, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Are you sure?”

“Just this once,” she said softly, wriggling her hips closer to his, “I want to feel you.”

Slowly, he nodded, watching as she pulled off the t-shirt of his she’d borrowed, and then pushing off his own flannel pants. Lydia suddenly wished for daylight, wanting to see his body properly, but she knew he might shy away, knew how conscious he was. He didn’t need to be, but they could work up to that.

She wrapped a hand around his cock, thick and lovely as it was last night, hot and solid in her hand. He was leaking already, and she gave him a gentle squeeze before asking, “Do you have lube? It’s better when it’s-”

“Yeah,” he muttered, reaching across to his nightstand and searching in the bottom drawer, “Slick.”

The way he said the word made her thighs clench; she hummed out a moan when he returned with a small half-empty bottle, and the thought of  him using it – maybe spread out on this bed, fingering himself with those long, gorgeous hands, maybe jerking off in his office chair – made the heat in her belly flare suddenly.

“Stiles,” she breathed out a laugh.

“I’m seventeen,” he said, like it was any kind of defence, “You can’t judge me.”

She laughed, drizzling the lube along his dick as she stroked it, letting him fuck into her hand a few times before he released him.

“C’mon,” she murmured, writhing a little, “C’mon, I want you.”

His hands shook as he reached down, rubbing the head of his cock through her folds a few times, until she lifted her hips and he just slid in so smoothly, like it was always meant to be like that.

“Fuck,” he dropped down onto his elbows over her, tensing as he pressed his lips to the shell of her ear, “God, _Lydia_.”

She’d never fucked Aiden; couldn’t do it, not after Boyd. The last guy she slept with – she couldn’t even remember his name, he was just a regret. He hadn’t felt like this. Nothing felt like Stiles.

“How does it feel,” she asked him, “Tell me.”

“Like,” he huffed out a heavy breath, “Fuck, like warm honey, like- _fuck_.”

She held him, stroked her fingers through his already mussed up hair as he gently rolled his hips into her, shaking with the effort, the sensation.

“Good?” she asked, biting her lip, because it _was_ good, and he felt so good, taking her so slow it was maddening.

“So good,” he breathed, “So- can’t believe it’s you. Never thought it’d be you.”

The things he said should have made her cringe, but they weren’t- they weren’t crass or cheesy, they were just true, and it made her _ache_. He was in total blissed-out awe. She wanted to make him feel like that forever.

Stiles pulled back, finally in control of his limbs again, thrusting into her in earnest and _holy hell_ , it was good. She kissed him openly as he fucked her, his hand finding purchase on her thigh and pressing it up towards her chest, sliding deeper inside her as he did.

“God, you feel good,” she breathed out, giggling, feeling him grin and nip at her lower lip. She arched her back, bared her neck to him, and he took the offer with sucking kisses against her throat and soft grunts as she squeezed around him. Stiles shifted his grip from her hair over the bed-sheets, to the headboard above them, his sweaty palm almost slipping against the wood, and it was such a wonderful reminder of _Stiles,_ rarely elegant but thoroughly dedicated.

She laughed and he beamed at her, laughing too as he worried his lip, knowing she wasn’t laughing at him, at his clumsiness, knowing that it was just an expression of her joy, that what they were doing felt _good_ , and it made her _happy._ He held her down with his weight, fucking her down into the mattress, and she loved it.

He licked into her mouth, tongue dragging over the line of her jaw, teeth grazing against her neck, and she was _so_ close that if he would just touch her-

“Stiles, please, I need-”

He pushed her leg out wide, moving his hand along her inner thigh until his fingers brushed her clit, pressed down and circled against it, and she cried out, spasming around him, grabbing him and digging her nails in where she could.

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles’ hand slid down the headboard, his nose touching hers, breathing her air, and then _he_ was the collapsing star, barely able to support his own weight as his body slipped against hers, coming deep inside her as her walls clutched at him.

She felt so full, so right; she never wanted to be empty, it was wrong.

When her name left his lips, bitten red and blood hot, she knew. She _knew_ any pretence of this being casual was lost. _Casual_ and _Stiles_ were two words that weren’t associated in _any_ manner, let alone when they came into conjunction with _Lydia_.

Stiles, still shaking, still inside her, murmured something into Lydia’s shoulder that she didn’t quite catch. She didn’t ask him to repeat it, instead letting him catch his breath as she kissed his ear and held him against her.

He fell next to her on the bed, and laughed. She loved it, she loved the sound. It felt like she was glowing.

She waited for the question, waited maybe half an hour next to him in the bed while he watched her, stroked her hair, touched her collar bones. She waited for him to say, “So, this… what is this?” with a little hopeful expression on his face and a hint of anxiety to his touch. It never came.

His stomach rumbled, more laughter, he kissed her and pushed off the bed.

“Food,” he said, “What do you want to eat?”

He made her _pancakes._ Stiles Stilinski made her fucking flawless post-coital pancakes. She watched him from the counter, wearing his t-shirt and her own panties, him in his boxer-briefs and nothing else.

The line of his body made her stomach flip. But that might have been the hunger.

He still didn’t ask. And then _she_ slipped up.

“So, what is this?” she asked. He was leaning against the wall opposite her with his plate, she had her legs folded on his kitchen counter.

“Pancake,” he replied, mouth full, and then looked up to see her gesturing between them. He wiped his mouth with the tea-towel hanging over his shoulder. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said, kind of hating herself. She knew what she wanted. Lydia always knew what she wanted, even if it was a sudden kind of want, like this.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Lydia,” he said, with kind of a one-shouldered shrug. Lydia watched him for a moment, looking at how much he had changed since they first met. She used to think of him as kind of a puppy - a cub that followed her around and pulled irritatingly at her tail. He’s nothing close to that anymore.

She’s said it the night before, that he was a wolf, stealthy and sly, and it had been a joke. But now he looked at her, and she saw all the skill and cunning and bravery he had inside him. All that love and instinct too. It made her _crave._

“What do you think?” he said carefully, pushing a piece of pancake around on his plate.

Lydia pursed her lips, “I think we should do some revision.”

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. His voice was cool but his shoulders were tense. “Okay, sure. What do you want to go back over?”

She put down her plate, “My impression of you. My calculations on our compatibility.”

“Oh,” he stumbled a bit, mouth forming silent words until he said, “Your calculations.”

“Someone,” she grinned, “told me – I think he said something like – sometimes two things that you would never think to put together, are the perfect combination.”

He nodded, “I’m sure it was something like that.”

She watched him, watched him cross the room and put down his plate next to hers, raise his hands, cup her face, and then she felt him right down to her toes, her _soul_ , when he kissed her.

“Yes. Do that. Revise the fuck  out of those calculations. I’ll even help, I’ll-”

“Stiles.”

“I’ll shut up and kiss you some more.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Lydia Martin thinks we’re compatible. Lydia Martin had really fantastic sex with me.”

She reached out for him, pinching his waist as he giggled, and her heart swelled, “Lydia Martin wants to be your girlfriend.”

She’d never seen him smile so wide.

 


End file.
